The second day of Riot Fest began with a large blow-up cherry and
a burgundy slip dress. The latter was donned by Cherry Glazerr’s
always-on frontwoman, Clementine Creevy, and the former teetered
in the background of their set. With the level of noise coming from
each instrument, you would have expected it to pop. But no, it held up
throughout their raucous and entertaining set, a whimsical piece of
mythology that encapsulated the group’s ethos perfectly. Standing three
feet from the front of the stage and the aforementioned cherry balloon,
I was struck by a jolt of pure happiness. For the first show of Riot Fest’s
second day, we were already off to a great start.
Cherry Glazerr played for over an hour straight, with each band
member thrashing to the music as Creevy’s ethereal voice carried
through the air. I had seen them perform at Detroit’s Fillmore theatre
in 2017, just as their star was beginning to shine in the rock scene. It
was nice to see how they’d grown from a smaller, derivative outfit to a
full-force group of seasoned performers. Their group is an interesting
mix of classic punk and pop-punk influences with a lighter, almost folk-
inspired flavor. It was a natural fit for Chicago’s Riot Fest crowd, which
was mixed in a similar way — from hardcore punkers to lighter, more
hippie-esque festivalgoers, there was something there for everyone on
that sunny Saturday in Douglas Park.
After dancing extremely poorly throughout the entirety of Cherry
Glazerr’s set, I meandered across the fairgrounds and realized an artist
I had been meaning to see was 50 feet away from where I was standing.
That artist was upcoming rapper PROF, who is, I would say, what we
all wanted Macklemore to be but never got from him. PROF’s set was a
hilarious 45 minutes of him questioning why he was even playing there
(which one could reasonably ask at a largely punk festival) and a rap
performance that knocked it out of the park. The rapper threw water
into the crowd, threw it on himself, bantered with his DJ and performed
songs from his most recent album all at the same time, building a rapport
with the crowd with every move he made. His beats were solid, his flow
a pleasant nod to old-school. He is definitely one to watch.
Walking soaked from PROF’s audience to the next stage, I couldn’t
help but giggle at the wonder of it all. You could hear the battling
basslines of multiple performers echo across the battered grass, smell
the smoke from vapes and cigarettes mixing in the afternoon wind,
catch the laughter of each group who had ventured back for another day.
It was honestly delightful. What was also delightful came in the next
hour, when I elbowed my way to the front of the crowd for glam-rock
throwback band The Struts. Their set was a blast from the past, in the
best way possible.
The Struts, composed of four incredibly talented musicians in shiny
costumes, bounced onto their stage with fervor. Frontman Luke Spiller
was clad in a brilliant red getup reminiscent of Freddie Mercury’s early
costumes, and the rest of the band wore similar outfits to push their
image even further. The songs blended into one another perfectly, with
Spiller effortlessly throwing in anecdotes between each performance
that ultimately segued into the next song. It was great, it was hot and
it was something that not many musicians could do in this day and age.
If Greta Van Fleet is what happens when a band blindly copies one from
the past, The Struts have ultimately become more than the sum of their
influences. Parts of their set reminded the audience of Queen, of Black
Sabbath, of the late ’70s in general — but they were themselves, not
anyone else. The music was good, and sometimes that’s what sets you
apart in the end.
As the sun began to go down and lines formed at every stage to
prepare for the mainstage headliners, an anticipatory buzz fell over the
crowds. First, I made my way over to the Wu-Tang Clan’s performance,
for which they were predictably late. After waiting for 20 minutes in the
photo line, we were finally there: I couldn’t believe that I had made it one
foot from the members of such a celebrated heritage group, but there I
was. Joining most of the original lineup was a new addition, Ol’ Dirty
Bastard’s son, aptly nicknamed Young Dirty Bastard. Their show was
brilliant, if somewhat slow. But its been decades since they burst onto
the scene, and the audience knew that. We were celebrating their genius
while listening to it, joining the group members in a rehashing of their
very beginnings with a full performance of their album 39 Chambers.
The rest of the night was a blur. From running to the Slayer stage
only to feel the literal sweat of the metal legends on my own skin in the
photo pit, to a knockout performance from the British post-punk icons
Bloc Party, I was riding an emotional yo-yo back and forth happily. My
eardrums were near the brink of collapse, but the smile on my face was
immovable, plastered across my cheeks like the Joker. I could feel the
bass in my bones, the arms and legs of the audience members around me,
the eyes of each performer crossing mine as I tried to get the best shots
and sounds of the night. Though blended, my memories are fond. Those
last two acts were a frenzied mix — sadness that I would be going home
the next day, ecstatic joy of true togetherness. We were dancing with
legends that night, and everyone knew that. Walking home from that
second day at Riot Fest, my skin buzzed with the energy of everyone I
had seen that day. I can almost feel it now.
Riot Fest day two is a sweaty, smoking punkmess
FESTIVAL COVERAGE
CLARA SCOTT
Senior Arts Editor
As a summer birthday baby, I’ve always felt spiritually
connected to the Emmys — the forgotten birthday, if you will,
of awards season. Sure, your friends tell you they’ll remember
it when everyone is back at school, but you know the truth.
In the same vein, everyone pretends that they’ll continue
to respect the Emmys, but by the time the “golden girl” (the
Academy Awards) rolls around the following spring, the
Emmy Awards is expected to retreat back into obscurity.
No longer.
The TV beat has made it our mission to prove that
television’s biggest night not only matters, but might — just
might — be a superior night to the Oscars. After all, despite
the annual hype surrounding the event, the Oscars always
prove to be a gargantuan disappointment in some way:
“Green Book” was not nominated purely as a joke? Lady
Gaga and Bradley Cooper didn’t make love on stage?
On the other hand, with nominees including “POSE,”
“Killing Eve” and “When They See Us,” the Emmys make the
Oscars look like the slice of male-dominated Wonder Bread
that it is*. Nearly every category is a close race, predisposing
the night to be one chock-full of must-see moments. So, for
those of you born without a crippling addiction to television,
we, the TV beat, are to give you a brief cheat sheet on who
to root for. Hopefully, you will exit this piece with some
conversation points that will make you sound like the most
cultured person in the room wherever you happen to be post-
Emmys on Monday morning.
We’ve got a good feeling about our predictions. We’re
about 75 percent sure that our predictions will be 100 percent
right.
You’re welcome.
— Ally Owens, TV Beat Editor
*The Emmys are not nearly as diverse on the production
side as my brag would substantiate ... but for the sake of the
argument, it’s still better than the Oscars.
Lead Actress in a Comedy Series: Julia Louis-
Dreyfus, “Veep”
It physically pains me to have to make a choice in this
category. Every actress nominated is a driving force of my
favorite shows, proving time and time again that women
are, in fact, funny, and actually are at the top of today’s
comedy game. That being said, there is one woman on that
list who inches above the rest, sitting atop the unreachable
throne of Queen of Comedy that she’s been crafting for
decades. I speak, of course, of Julia Louis-Dreyfus and her
performance in the seventh and final season of “Veep.”
Dreyfus bids the infamous Selina Meyer farewell in a
season of power-hungry mania that resolves with barely
a glimpse of regret. If her delivery of fast quips and gut-
punching insults won’t get the gold for her, the final
prolonged stare she graces an empty Oval Office with sure
will.
— Samantha Della Fera, Senior Arts Editor
Comedy Series: “Fleabag”
The only justified way to award this category is in a six-
way tie. Trying to choose “The Good Place” over “Schitt’s
Creek”? “Barry” over “Russian Doll”? It’s a tedious task:
Comedy is delivering today’s best television, scoffing as we
duel over which show is best. The underdog winner here is
Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s glorious “Fleabag,” a dark comedy
with talk-to-the-camera direction that makes “The
Office” and “Parks and Recreation” look like high school
video projects. As Waller-Bridge’s titular Fleabag grapples
with trauma through sex and humor, she is introduced to
a hot priest that everyone, including Fleabag herself, has
no choice but to fall head over heels for in the most painful
way. Once you witness the fourth wall break that will send
a cold shock through your entire body, you too will know
why this show should be walking home with the statue.
— Samantha Della Fera
Lead Actor in A Drama: Billy Porter, “POSE”
If Billy Porter is not awarded this title, you have my word
that I will punch a hole through my Samsung television.
Carnegie
Mellon-educated
and
Broadway-trained,
Porter’s resume already exceeds what is commonly
expected of a “conventional” leading man in television.
Jason Bateman, you’ll always have a place in my heart, but
Billy simply is a stratosphere above what has been listed
(in name only) as his competition. Even without context,
Porter’s portrayal of Pray Tell on “POSE” could still beat
out the most talented men in Hollywood. However, when
you combine Porter’s raw performance ability with the
important social work he is doing — representing the
strength and kinship of queer-found families — you have
to wonder, do I really need to call Saul?
— Ally Owens
Lead Actor in a Comedy Series: Bill Hader, “Barry”
While “Schitt’s Creek” patriarch Eugene Levy and
Ted Danson’s demonic Michael on “The Good Place”
are also worthy contenders for this prize, their brilliant
performances seem almost one-note in comparison to
Bill Hader’s as the titular hitman in “Barry.” Playing a
character who is on a quest to put his dark past into the
shadows in order to pursue a serendipitous acting career,
Hader is even more impressive in the show’s second
season, as he is forced to display a much wider range of
emotions than the stoic, repressed and awkward version
of the character seen in the first season. Second season
Barry is given the ability to show development, and Hader
juggles the inherent complexity in playing such a role with
tremendous skill.
— Sayan Ghosh, New Media Beat Editor
Limited Series: “Chernobyl”
Possibly the most stacked category of the entire
night, the “Limited Series” title will probably be
bestowed upon one of the largest TV phenomena of
recent memory. I mean, how many other television
shows can transform a destroyed nuclear site into
a destination for influencers? Moreover, HBO’s
“Chernobyl” doesn’t just have popularity on its
side, but also an impressively well-crafted world
lain before audiences by the writers, as well
as a stellar performance by Stellan Skarsgård.
2019 Emmys predictions from The Daily’s TV beat
DAILY TV WRITERS
Daily Arts Writers
TV/NEW MEDIA NOTEBOOK
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
When I was younger, I fantasized about
receiving letters. Not just any letters —
letters from myself in the future. In these
letters, future Sarah would chronologize my
milestones and regrets. The information could
be anything from a tip on an upcoming exam
(I’m looking at you, physiology) or a clue about
who I will marry. What could I do with that
knowledge? Would I even believe it? While
characters in Keigo Higashino’s “Miracles of
the Namiya General Store” don’t get letters
from themselves, they do get letters from the
future.
“Miracles of the Namiya General Store”
follows a series of interconnected vignettes,
each telling a touching tale about a specific
character’s internal conflicts with Mr. Namiya
and his letters. Before the Namiya General
Store had its time travel capabilities, it was
simply a mom-and-pop shop with an old man
as its owner. At the beginning, the letters and
their responses weren’t serious at all. In fact,
they would be most aptly dubbed as riddles.
People would stop by the Namiya General Store
and drop the letters off in a little milk crate. At
5:30 a.m. each morning, Mr. Namiya would get
up, read through the letters and post his reply.
“Tell me how I can get an A+ on a test without
studying or cheating on anything,” one visitor
writes in “The Miracles.” And Mr. Namiya
responds with, “Ask your teacher to test you
on yourself. Since you’re the topic of the test,
whatever you say will be correct.”
These
silly
prankster-like
questions,
however, were soon replaced with serious
questions. Instead of dismissing these letters,
Mr. Namiya slaved over thoughtful replies.
Halfway through the work, Mr. Namiya
eventually dies on September 13th. Each year,
however, on the anniversary of his death, time
stops at the Namiya General Store. Whoever
stumbles by has the ability to communicate
with people in the past. We don’t learn of
the Namiya General’s backstory until we’re
halfway through the novel. Instead, the novel
is framed by a set of three teenage delinquents
— Kohei, Atsuya and Shota — who happen by the
Namiya General Store by chance. Interestingly
enough, the three boys take on the role Mr.
Namiya once filled and earnestly answer the
letters that file through the milk crate.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of tedium with a
structure like the vignettes of “The Miracles.”
Each chapter is like another exposition: new
setting, new characters and new conflict.
I initially worried that I would dread each
chapter, hoping to return to familiar characters
like Kohei, Atsuya and Shota. Thankfully, this
is never the case. Each story is singular and
surprisingly touching. One follows the story
of a man with the pseudonym of “Floundering
Musician” who struggles between his duty to
the family business or following his dream
to pursue a career in music. Another is of
an Olympic fencer named “Moon Rabbit”
who oscillates between taking care of her
terminally ill partner or throwing her all into
her training.
Like the letters sent to Mr. Namiya, some
stories are hilarious. Others are heavy, delving
deep into familial problems that had me
fighting tears. Keigo Higashino proves to be a
masterful storyteller, demonstrating expertise
outside of his traditional crime and mystery
novels. As always, I’m eager for his next
translated work.
‘Namiya General Store’ an epistolary coming-of-age
SARAH SALMAN
Daily Arts Writer
BOOK REVIEW
The Miracles of
Namiya General
Store
Keigo Higashino
Yen Press
Sept. 24, 2019
HBO
COURTESY OF CLARA SCOTT
DESIGN BY TRINA PAL
5 — Friday, September 20, 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com